


more than just the shape of things

by oryx



Category: Kamen Rider Ex-Aid
Genre: Emotionally Repressed, From Sex to Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Post-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-09-30 11:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17223137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: Kiriya offers to help Hiiro with some personal issues. It ends up more complicated than he intended.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ozuttly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozuttly/gifts).



> ok, so. this is... the birthday-turned-holiday gift (it's still totally the holidays, right) but it kinda got away from me in concept, and, uh. hopefully there will be more soon... i will try my best... sorry for the questionable content in the meantime

  
“What do you think about Horikoshi?”  
   
Hiiro pauses with his fork halfway into his slice of lemon chiffon. He can feel his brow knit together. “Who?”  
   
Kujou Kiriya stops in the middle of his aimless chair-swiveling to give him an expectant look from across the table. Underneath his white coat, his shirt today is a vibrant red with a pattern of tropical blue flowers, unbuttoned just one button more than is quite appropriate for a work environment. “In obstetrics?” he says. “Tall, long-ish hair, nice legs… This ringing any bells for you?”  
   
It is not, but he’s gathered by now that admitting he has no idea who most of his coworkers are paints him in a somewhat unfortunate light. “What about them?” he says, as casually as he can manage.  
   
Kujou lifts his eyes to the ceiling like he’s pleading for help from some higher power. “I’m trying to set you up, Kagami. On a date.”  
   
Hiiro frowns. “Did this woman put you up to this?” he asks, and receives a blank stare in return.  
   
“You – ” Kujou runs a tired hand through his hair. “You don’t actually know who Horikoshi is, do you?” Before Hiiro can protest he’s shaking his head, muttering: “Nah, of course you don’t. Can’t believe you’d think I’d try and set you up with a chick, though.”  
   
A moment of silence.  
   
“Ah,” Hiiro says finally. “I see.” He’s sitting too rigid in his seat, suddenly, to the point of discomfort, but can’t seem to relax out of it. He robotically takes a bite of cake and barely tastes it; swallows hard and says: “That’s… a different matter, then. I’ve never… been on a date with a man before.”  
   
“No offense intended,” Kujou says, “but I kind of had a feeling.” He rests his chin against his palm as he looks at Hiiro, contemplative. “I just think it’d be good for you. He’s nice, attractive. You could stand to have some fun. What’s the harm, right? And you can just think of it like… The guys you fooled around with in college. Except in this case you get dinner first.”  
   
Hiiro stares down at his chiffon. The guys he what? Something in the pit of his stomach feels like it’s twisting itself into a tight knot, and then that knot is twisting in on itself, the same feeling lacing its way up into his chest.  
   
He can sense Kujou’s scrutiny intensifying. “You have… done  _something_  with a guy before, right?”  
   
Hiiro sets his fork down with a too-loud clatter. His own voice sounds like it’s coming from far away when he says: “I have. A patient I need to check on.”  
   
His chair scrapes the floor as he pushes it back, too quick and abrupt. His posture feels stiff and unnatural as he gets to his feet and turns away, and he can still feel Kujou’s eyes watching him as he descends the stairs down from the break room, his footsteps clattering against the metal. Only once the doors of the CR have closed firmly behind him does any of the tension fade from his body.  
   
He ends up checking on every single one of his patients, just so that excuse isn’t a lie.  
   
Poppy  _is_  always telling him he needs to work on being more personable.  
   
  
   
  
   
He doesn’t particularly enjoy it, when his colleagues send him some stuffy research article to read that they found “just so enlightening.”  
   
Despite all appearances, he has never been much for the academia of medicine. He wrote excellent papers in school, obviously. Flawlessly detached and clinical and thorough. But he never quite got the point of it, at the end of the day. Past one’s first year or so of rote memorization, there is nothing, he’s found, in the realm of healthcare that cannot be learned best by simply being there in the room. By directly watching it happen, and then repeating it yourself, perfecting the precise motions until they are second nature. Someone out there has to do the studies and the tests and the what-if-someday-we-can speculation, of course. But he’d rather have as little to do with it as possible.  
   
He’s here to cut people open and sew them back up, and that’s that.  
   
Still, it’s another realization he’s come to, lately: that several of his coworkers are really, truly enamored with all this “intra-community dialogue,” as they put it. And that it is considered generally impolite to snub them when they come asking him for his opinion on the pdf they e-mailed him two days prior.  
   
He has started trying, if only for that purpose.  
   
This one is dry even by the typical standards, though. He finds his eyes attempting to slide off the screen as he reads about a newly proposed method of assessing patient risk for cardiomyopathy. Strange, how he can be so completely un-engrossed and yet still not notice Kujou Kiriya until he’s sitting down next to him on the courtyard bench. (He’s not even a Bugster anymore, but he still has the habit of appearing out of the blue.)  
   
Kujou leans over, far too close, their shoulders brushing as he peers at the article on Hiiro’s phone. He smells nice, Hiiro finds himself thinking. Warm. Like cocoa butter.  
   
Kujou shakes his head with a huff of disbelief a moment later. “Just some light reading, huh?”  
   
“It’s… not entirely by choice,” Hiiro mutters, turning his phone off and stowing it in his pocket.  
   
He can feel Kujou’s eyes on him again. “You’re on break, and yet here you are studying away. For the third day in a row. I can almost hear the nurses now. ‘Kagami-sensei is  _so_  dedicated.’”  
   
Hiiro gets the sense that he’s being subtly accused of avoidance. It’s true that something these past few days has been stopping him from taking his breaks in the CR. Maybe I just wanted a change of pace, he tries to say, but the words seem stuck like a thorn in his throat.  
   
“Well,” Kujou says. “Since you’ve probably been missing some of your sugar intake…” He hands him a canned coffee from one of the vending machines, which Hiiro accepts after a moment of hesitation. It’s one of the sort that’s laden with cream and sweetness – more coffee-flavored milk than anything. Exactly the type he would have chosen for himself. Kujou’s coffee, by contrast, is black.  
   
“Thank you,” Hiiro says quietly.  
   
Kujou waves a hand, like he’s brushing the thought away. “Honestly I… feel kinda bad. For putting you on the spot the other day. Sorry about that.”  
   
Ah, Hiiro thinks. Awkwardness prickles like needles at the back of his neck. “It probably seems… unbelievable, to you,” he says, stilted. “That I’ve never – ”  
   
His voice simply stops, then, like a door slamming in his face. He could try as hard as he wanted, he knows, but he physically could not make himself complete that sentence.  
   
Kujou seems to ponder this. “Not really,” he says finally. “I mean, it’s a little far from my experience, for sure,” he laughs at his, a flash of white teeth, “but, y’know. I’ve met all kinds of guys.” He looks at Hiiro thoughtfully. “Is this, like. A real issue for you? ‘How could I date someone who would have certain expectations,’ and all that?”  
   
Hiiro’s jaw hurts from clenching it as he nods.  
   
“Okay,” Kujou says. “Then… How about I help you out? In the ‘gaining some experience’ sense?”  
   
Though perhaps his mind is tricking him, he could swear that everything – the tinny sound of the intercom floating across the courtyard from the main building, car traffic in the distance – cuts out in this moment to create a yawning silence.  
   
“What,” Hiiro says, a statement more than a question. The thud of his heart suddenly seems far too forceful.  
   
When Kujou slings an arm around his shoulders it’s all he can do not to leap off the bench and run.  
   
“I mean, I’m mostly into casual stuff myself.” Hiiro can feel Kujou’s shrug as much as see it. “So it’s not an issue for me. What’s a favor between friends, right?”  
   
“Between… friends,” Hiiro echoes. It sounds like someone else’s voice. Are they friends? Before, they had both simply fallen into Houjou’s orbit, their paths occasionally overlapping. Now… he’s not so sure what they are. Clearly, neither of them finds the other’s company unpleasant. But friends are comfortable around each other, aren’t they? And he is never entirely comfortable around Kujou Kiriya. Always far too aware of his hands, the minute changes in his expression, the dip of his collarbone visible beneath his garish shirts.  
   
“‘Course, it’s just an offer,” Kujou is saying. “No pressure or anything.”  
   
His hand is like a warm weight against Hiiro’s shoulder.  
   
“If I… said yes.” Hiiro can hear himself speaking, muffled, as if it were coming through a thick haze of static. “What… would that involve?”  
   
Kujou’s eyes widen, very slightly, and then he grins.  
   
  
   
  
   
He’s not sure how Kujou had known his schedule so thoroughly. “You’ve only got one minor surgery in the morning on Friday, right?” he’d said, plucking Hiiro’s phone straight from his pocket and adding himself as a contact. “So you’re free the rest of the day? Technically? I mean, I know you’re basically always on-call, but. Text me your address, will you? I’ll swing by at… nine? That sound good?”  
   
Hiiro had been unable to do anything but nod.  
   
He spends hours on Friday obsessively cleaning every inch of his apartment. He has someone for that, of course – a woman who typically comes in every other week, but who he could call for any time, he’s sure. But he doesn’t trust her. Not right now. Sometimes a single patch of dust is left behind on his bookshelf when she’s finished. Sometimes she puts things back in just slightly the wrong place.  
   
And above all else, would she be able to tell, somehow? Does she get a lot of calls like that? “Someone is coming over to kiss me in a few hours and I feel like my home has to be spotless despite knowing that they aren’t the type to care”?  
   
(He can’t think of anything beyond a kiss. Something short-circuits in his mind past that point. He pointedly tries not to dwell on it.)  
   
Kujou is late, in the end. Hiiro sits there on his couch, back straight, unfolding and re-folding his hands in his lap as he waits, and the sound of the buzzer twenty minutes past nine sends him jumping to his feet.  
   
“Yo,” Kujou says, smiling brightly when he opens the door. The collar of his red leather jacket is turned up against the chill, and yet he still has capris on. He holds up a bottle of wine. “Realized at the last second it’d be kinda rude to show up empty-handed.”  
   
“There was no need,” Hiiro says, but Kujou doesn’t seem to be listening to him. He whistles appreciatively as he steps inside, toeing off his shoes as he scans the place.  
   
“Man. The things you can buy on a ‘world’s best surgeon’ salary, huh? And you probably don’t even appreciate it.”  
   
Hiiro frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, but Kujou simply laughs and shakes his head.  
   
“Wanna show me to the kitchen? I’m dying for a drink.”  
   
  
   
  
   
“Gonna be honest,” he says, “I half-thought those girls might answer your door for you. The ones who were like. Your servants.”  
   
Hiiro can feel himself grimace. His fingers curl against the wood of his kitchen table. Kujou’s back is turned to him, rummaging around through his drawers as if he lived here in search of a corkscrew.  
   
“I… informed Nishikikoji and Ogimachi to focus on their own careers from now on. I should never have let them – do all of that. They deserved better.”  
   
Just like Saki did.  
   
This seems to be a running theme in his life.  
   
Kujou hums in assent before making a triumphant noise upon locating the corkscrew – never used, part of a housewarming basket his father had given him two years ago when he’d just moved in. A minute later and Kujou is taking the seat opposite Hiiro; sliding a small glass of red wine across the table towards him. The overhead light refracts through it, creating a pool of swimming, cherry-tinged translucence against the surface.  
   
“I don’t drink,” Hiiro says.  
   
“What a shock,” Kujou says flatly. “Make an exception just this once, will you? Not like that much will impair you or anything. But it might make you a little less, uh.” He gestures vaguely towards all of Hiiro, and it’s only then he realizes how rigidly he’s sitting, an ache forming in his lower back. “On-edge.”  
   
Hiiro forces himself to relax. He sips at the wine and can feel his expression scrunch up in distaste, and Kujou laughs, a surprisingly genuine sound, his cheeks dimpling. Hiiro wonders why it feels so much warmer in this room than it usually does.  
   
“Can I… ask you a question?” he says.  
   
“Sure, yeah. Lay it on me.”  
   
“When did you realize? That you… liked men?”  
   
If that question takes him by surprise, it doesn’t show on his face. He leans back in his seat, looking pensive, fingers drumming against the tabletop. “I guess I was… twelve? But, y’know. Realizing isn’t exactly the same as accepting, is it? That’s more what you mean, right?” His eyes are piercing as he looks at Hiiro. “Didn’t take me too much longer for that part, either way. Not like I was capable of being subtle about it.  
   
“Being obviously gay as a teenager is just a lot of disappointing hand jobs and stupid jokes at your expense. You didn’t miss too much. College, though.” He grins. “You definitely missed out there. Med school is wild once you dig a little deeper.”  
   
Hiiro isn’t blind. Of course he’d seen glimpses – the ripples of relationship drama and the aftermaths of raucous parties disturbing the supposedly calm, professional surface. But obviously he’d never been a part of any of it. All of that had happened distantly from himself, far removed from his own little sphere of existence.  
   
He wonders, if maybe he’d tried to socialize more. If he might have met someone like Kujou, back then. (Not  _exactly_  like him. Who could be? But someone with a similar ease to everything they did.) Maybe things would be different now. Different in what way he’s not certain, but the thought makes him feel odd – lagging, like he left a bit of himself behind somewhere.  
   
“Just making sure,” Kujou says, “but do you actually want to go through with this? You don’t have to, y’know. It’s not like. A requirement. No matter how other people might make it seem.”  
   
Hiiro licks his lips. Takes another sip of wine.  
   
“I want to,” he says, with the kind of steady resolve in his voice that he usually reserves for the operating room, which only cracks a little when he adds: “Please.”  
   
  
   
  
   
Unsurprisingly, Kujou is a good kisser.  
   
Though Hiiro supposes he doesn’t have much to compare it to. The few chaste, uncomfortable presses of lips he’d shared with his two past girlfriends are barely worth categorizing as kisses anymore, is what he decides as Kujou’s teeth graze his lower lip and warmth rolls over him like a wave. He’s got his palm pressed against Hiiro’s jawline, his other hand curled around his bicep in a way that feels far too intimate. Should it be like this? It makes his head spin, the idea that Kujou can do this without it meaning anything to him.  
   
Kujou pulls back with a crooked smile, and it’s only then that Hiiro realizes he’s forgotten to breathe.  
   
“Well, the bad news is you’re kind of supposed to reciprocate when someone kisses you.” There is a wry laugh in Kujou’s voice. “The good news is, I’ve also had worse. Somehow.”  
   
“I – I apologize,” Hiiro says stiffly, all too conscious of Kujou’s palm still sitting there against his skin.  
   
“Nah, don’t worry about it. You’ll get better with practice.” He steps in closer, then, his hand sliding down to curl into the collar of his shirt, tugging him in. “That’s true for anything,” he murmurs against his mouth.  
   
He pushes Hiiro back little by little until the backs of his knees hit the bed; he finds himself sitting down obediently at the slightest press of hands against his chest. He wonders, distantly, if Kujou can feel his heart racing beneath his fingertips as he slots himself between his legs.  
   
He kisses him again, dizzyingly long and slow; breaks away to smile down at him. “Don’t think too hard about anything, Kagami-sensei. I’ll take care of all of it.”  
   
When Kujou sinks down between his knees, palms his half-hard cock through the fabric of his pants, his pulse seems to jump, sharp and erratic. His zipper being undone, Kujou’s fingers closing around him makes his breath hitch. Kujou licks a long stripe from the base to the tip and that hitch turns into a choked sound, warmth flushing his neck, and Hiiro finds his hand reaching out unconsciously before he jerks it back.  
   
Kujou laughs. “You’re allowed to touch me, too, y’know. If you want. If you want to get good at sex that part is kind of important.”  
   
He’s still making direct eye contact, looking up at him through his eyelashes, as he takes the head of his cock in his mouth.  
   
Hiiro can’t help but think, in some remote corner of his mind, that Kujou must be skilled at this, too. He has no basis for comparison, but surely this can’t be anything but expert – the curl of his tongue, the hollow of his cheeks at just the right moment, the hum in the back of his throat as he takes him deeper. Hiiro feels like someone has poured something hot and molten beneath his skin. He lets himself touch Kujou’s cheek, sliding his fingers back through his hair and over the shell of his ear, receiving a soft, contented sound in return.  
   
Maybe it’s that sound that truly makes it real for him. When he strokes along the curve of Kujou’s ear again he hears it again, and Kujou seems to shudder, full-body, cheeks flushing as his lips are still stretched around Hiiro’s cock, and it’s that expression that makes him feel like he’s unraveling, being taken apart at the seams. His own breathing is loud and uneven. His hand twists tighter in Kujou’s hair than he’d thought he’d ever dare as he comes, trembling with it.  
   
The silence after, his heartbeat slowing, is like the world being flipped back on its proper axis. Mortification hits him like a slap in the face, but Kujou seems not to notice, the flush still darkening his face as he swallows, tongue darting out along his lips. He smiles as he gets to his feet, hands working the buttons of his jeans, and Hiiro fumbles to help him, earning a laugh from Kujou that feels like it eases some of the shame away.  
   
“That was just round one, obviously,” he says, a glint in his eyes as he straddles Hiiro’s lap. “You’re up for the next one, too, right?”  
   
Haltingly, Hiiro curls a hand around Kujou’s hip, and holds on tight, and somehow manages a nod.  
   
  
   
  
  
  
   
Kujou is tapping his pen against the tabletop. He has a file open, half-filled-out paperwork spilling from within, but seems to have forgotten it for the moment, he and Houjou chattering away about something Hiiro can’t hope to understand. A band? A movie? Their words seem to pass through a veil; they’re unintelligible by the time they reach him. He’s almost entirely focused on Kujou’s hand – the curve of his fingers around the pen. Fingers which, just two days ago, had been –  
   
“Hiiro-san, are you okay?”  
   
He jumps in his seat. Bangs his elbow against the edge of the table and tries very hard not to let the pain show on his face.  
   
Both Houjou and Kujou are staring at him – Houjou frowning in concern, Kujou’s eyebrow raised. Hiiro finds his gaze drifting towards Kujou’s mouth, the part of his lips, and hastily glances away.  
   
“I’m fine,” he mutters.  
   
Houjou’s expression is turning amused. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you spacing out before, Hiiro-san. Better not do that in surgery later.”  
   
“I don’t need to hear that from you, pediatrician,” he snaps, and regrets it instantly as Houjou’s face falls, smile sliding away, the laughing spark leaving his eyes. He looks more  _disappointed_  than anything, and the weight of it crawls unpleasantly across Hiiro’s skin as the awkward silence stretches on. When Houjou plasters his smile back on, the press of his mouth is somewhat tight.  
   
“Well. I guess… I’ll go on my rounds,” he says, pushing back his chair. “See you guys later.”  
   
Kujou grins and waves to him as he leaves, and seems to be listening for the sound of the CR doors closing behind him before turning back to Hiiro.  
   
“Y’know, I feel like you might’ve missed a memo about how all of this is supposed to work. Losing your virginity is supposed to make you  _less_  uptight. That’s the generally accepted rule.”  
   
Heat is rising high in Hiiro’s cheeks. “I didn’t… mean to – ” he starts, before his voice falters and gives up on him.  
   
Kujou huffs out a sigh. “Try not to keel over from stress before your date rolls around, alright?” He rummages around in his coat pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper, which he slides across the table. “That’s Horikoshi’s number. He still seems pretty interested. You must’ve really captivated him from afar with all of your… charms. Obviously  _you_  can’t be expected to make the first move, so. I gave him your number, too. You better respond when he texts you or I’ll kick your ass. Got it?”  
   
Hiiro reaches out, hesitant, to touch the line of scribbled numbers.  
   
“Why… are you doing all of this?” he asks softly.  
   
Kujou laughs, baring his teeth. “What, you think I need some ulterior motive to help someone out?” He falls silent, then, and seems to consider his own question. “…I’m not sure, actually. Maybe I just felt like it.”  
   
He hops to his feet, circling around the table, stopping behind him and clapping his hands on Hiiro’s shoulders. Hiiro stiffens at the touch. Suddenly he’s unable to focus on anything else but the way his thumb is brushing against the nape of his neck. He can hear the amused exasperation in Kujou’s voice as he says:  
   
“Just. Promise me you’ll try to calm down a bit. Okay?”  
   
He gives Hiiro’s shoulders a disconcerting squeeze before tossing out a “see ya around” and heading for the stairs. His footsteps gradually fade away as Hiiro, now alone in the silent CR, stares down at Horikoshi’s number in front of him. His fingers are digging hard into his thigh, and he wills them to uncurl.  
   
 _Calm down._  
   
Easier said than done, when he can still feel the place Kujou’s hands had just been, as if they’d left behind an imprint.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guh ok this is. too short of an update but it just felt like... the right place to leave off. until next time *salutes you all*

  
Horikoshi Kazuya is just as Kujou had described him: tall, handsome, with jet black hair and an affable sort of face. Rare to see young men as successful obstetricians these days, but, as Kujou had said: “He  _is_  obviously gay, so I think that helps.”  
   
 _Of course_ , Hiiro thinks, as the sharply-dressed man in front of him smiles and offers his hand to shake.  _Obviously._  
   
(He wonders if there’s something one needs to do, to turn on this sixth sense in regards to other people. A metaphorical switch that needs to be flipped. Currently he is receiving no such information.)  
   
“I was happy to hear back from you,” Horikoshi says, once they’ve taken their seats at a table by the window, glossy menus placed in front of them. Hiiro has been here before, but only on business – formal lunches with other ‘rising stars’ in the field of medicine. “I hope Kujou didn’t make me out to be too pushy.”  
   
Hiiro tries to relax his posture a bit. His spine feels stiff against the hard back of the chair. Moreso than it ever did during any business meeting. “No,” he says. “Not at all.” He hesitates for a moment before adding: “Though. I am a little… confused as to why.”  
   
“Why what?”  
   
“Why… you would be interested.”  
   
Horikoshi laughs. “I would’ve thought it would be obvious,” he says, his tone light, but upon seeing no change in Hiiro’s expression he seems to pause again, brow knitting together, leveling Hiiro with a baffled look. “Kagami-san, could it be… that you don’t know how attractive you are?”  
   
Hiiro blinks.  
   
Years of being cooed over by aunties as a child, of giggling girls in high school whispering “so cool” when he happened to glance their way, of his male classmates calling him “pretty boy” as a supposed insult… He’s long since known that he is, by most standards, rather good-looking. But there’s a difference, somehow, between that and  _attractiveness_. Isn’t there magnetism inherent in attraction? Don’t you have to be a certain type of person, to have that effect on others? Someone bright and vivid. Someone with charisma and presence, able to change the mood of a room just by stepping inside.  
   
Someone like –  
   
“Sorry, is that too shallow of me?” Horikoshi is saying. His smile is amused. “I have also been impressed by your work. It’s hard not to get taken in by all the stories of the world’s best surgeon.”  
   
Hiiro clears his throat. “I… have heard good things about your work as well.”  
   
“From Kujou?” He huffs out a laugh. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. When he resolves to wingman for someone he always goes all in.”  
   
The waitress appears to take their order, then – Hiiro chooses something thoughtlessly, his mind feeling far away.  
   
“Have you… known him for long?” he asks, once the woman has left their table with a bow.  
   
“Hm? Oh, Kujou?” Horikoshi looks pensive over the rim of his water glass. “Been about three years now, I think. He just showed up in my office one day, asking about… God, I can’t even remember now. It might’ve just been a ploy, in retrospect. He seems to like to know everyone. But we’ve gotten along pretty well since.”  
   
Hiiro licks his lips. “Have you. Have the two of you ever…?”  
   
Horikoshi’s expression turns wry. “Oh, yeah. Not anything serious, though. And not for long, either. Turns out we work better as just plain friends, without any benefits.”  
   
“Ah,” Hiiro says. He wonders where this tightness in his throat is coming from. “Does he ever… date for real?”  
   
“Not in the time I’ve known him.” A heavy pause. “Maybe at one point, though. I’ve pieced together that he used to have a boyfriend, a few years back. Aihara, I think his name was. But… he passed away, it seems. A bit of a tragedy. And I guess this is just speculation on my part, but… I don’t think Kujou has wanted to get serious about anyone since then. Less chance of getting hurt again.”  
   
Aihara Jungo. Of course. Hiiro hadn’t managed to fit that piece into the puzzle quite right, had he? Hadn’t quite managed to make the leap from ‘friend’ to ‘boyfriend.’  
   
“It’s not as if he’s actually told me any of this,” Horikoshi continues. “I’m mostly going off rumors here. It’s like pulling teeth, getting him to talk about himself.”  
   
Hiiro frowns. “He was telling me about his past the other day.”  
   
Horikoshi’s eyes widen, then. His hand stops mid-motion as he runs it through his hair, falling slowly back to his lap. “Really?” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “For years now, he’s always just dodged my questions… He must really like you.”  
   
Those words send a strange feeling prickling across the back of Hiiro’s neck.  
   
“But, you know,  _this_  exact thing has happened before.” Horikoshi’s smile is caught halfway between amusement and exasperation. “He sets me up and then we just spend the entire date talking about him. Funny how it works out.”  
   
Hiiro’s face warms. “I – I apologize.” He fishes around in his mind for a suitable conversation topic, finally landing on: “Where… did you attend university?”  
   
Horikoshi’s eyes soften as he answers, launching into a story about his old medical ethics professor that seems tailor-made for improving the mood of a slightly uncomfortable date.  
   
  
   
  
   
“I’d like to do this again sometime,” Horikoshi says.  
   
“Really?” Hiiro says, before he can stop himself, too taken aback to keep the word from slipping out, and Horikoshi laughs. They’ve wandered down to the path along the river, where the Christmas light displays have yet to be taken down despite the fact that they’re well into January, strands of coloured bulbs reflected in the black water. The cold is as sharp as a scalpel against his cheeks.  
   
“Yes, really. But I’m… getting the sense that you might not be interested.”  
   
“That’s not true,” Hiiro says quickly, but Horikoshi shakes his head.  
   
“I just feel like maybe… you’re already fixated on someone else?”  
   
Hiiro stops. Frowns. He’s unsure of what led this man to such a conclusion. Was it something he said? Who exactly would he be fixated upon?  
   
Horikoshi is giving him a look of vague amusement. “All I can say is good luck with that one, I suppose. And, you know… If it doesn’t work out, you can always call me. You sell yourself a bit short sometimes, Kagami-sensei. Some of us find the awkward type endearing.”  
   
Hiiro can feel his brow knit together. “Is that a compliment?” he asks.  
   
Horikoshi merely smiles, and offers to buy him a coffee before they both freeze in the January chill.  
   
  
   
  
   
That night, he lies awake with his thoughts stuck on Aihara Jungo.  
   
So all along, Kujou had been the same as Hiiro. The same but utterly different.  
   
He imagines Kujou must have loved him, really and truly. Must have treated him like you  _should_  treat a partner – like they mean the entire world to you. Like you’d walk to the ends of it and back just to see them happy.  
   
And he’d had to listen to Hiiro, despairing and weeping and putting everyone’s lives at risk over a woman he’d never cherished at all.  
   
His neck feels stiff, his jaw clenched tight as he turns over restlessly. The neon red numbers of his bedside clock – 2:47 – blur a bit around the edges as he looks at them through tired eyes.  
   
It’s lucky, he supposes, that all of his scheduled surgeries tomorrow are those he could do in his sleep.  
   
  
   
  
   
Kujou is sprawled across the couch with a book draped over his face – a glossy soft-cover textbook entitled  _Biostatistics: A Foundation for Analysis in the Health Sciences_  – when Hiiro steps into the CR break room. (He always forgets that Kujou  _is_  one of those types. An academic.) A moment later and he’s tugging the book down to raise an eyebrow at him in a manner that’s unmistakably judgmental.  
   
“What?”  
   
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kujou says.  
   
“What?” Hiiro repeats, with a snap of annoyance this time.  
   
“I am a great matchmaker, I’ll have you know.” He’s gesturing with the book, now, using it to point at Hiiro accusingly. “He should’ve been perfect for you. He’s patient, for one. Which, let’s face it, is probably the number one quality needed to date you.”  
   
Hiiro can feel himself scowl. He sets his boxed slice of red velvet down on the table with maybe a little too much force.  
   
“Well I apologize, then,” he says tersely. “For not marrying him on the spot.”  
   
Kujou rolls his eyes, letting his head fall back against the armrest of the couch. Hiiro finds himself staring at the line of his throat before forcing his attention towards the cake in front of him.  
   
“Back to square one, huh?” Kujou mutters. “What about… Hanaya?”  
   
Hiiro’s frown deepens. “I don’t… know about that.”  
   
“You’ve got the history. Which should make it easier. But then again.” He gives Hiiro a thoughtful look. “Kind of hard to imagine it being anything but awkward, with the two of you involved. And who knows what Hanaya’s got going on these days.”  
   
The red velvet seems too sweet today, is what he thinks as the frosting melts on his tongue. What he  _tries_  to think, at least, but in reality his mind is occupied by another thought, forcing everything else into the background.  
   
“You and Hanaya,” he says. “Did you ever…?”  
   
“Hm? Oh. Nah, actually. I definitely tried it, a while back, but. I don’t think he was picking up what I was putting down. Fairly sure he’s into guys, just. One of those secretly sentimental types, maybe? Wants it to mean something.”  
   
Hiiro nods mutely, accepting, as if all of this were very simple and commonplace to him. Wonders why it is he feels so relieved.  
   
He’s starting something of a chart in the back of his mind, it seems. Horikoshi: Yes. Hanaya: No. Dan Kuroto: He truly hopes not.  
   
Houjou:  
   
Something twists in the pit of his stomach.  
   
Maybe, deep down, he’d prefer if that particular answer remained blank.  
   
“Who else?” Kujou is musing. “Maeda, maybe? He’s a nurse, over in the cancer treatment ward. Tells great jokes – probably be good to balance you out. And we could always go wild and expand our search beyond the hallowed halls of Seito – ”  
   
“Why are you so set on this?”  
   
The words come out far harsher and more biting than he’d intended. More a demand than a question. Kujou blinks at him, very slightly taken aback, before a bemused smile tugs at his mouth.  
   
“You can’t still think I have some secret motive here.”  
   
“That’s not – ” Hiiro breaks off, a noise of frustration in the back of his throat. “Maybe I just don’t want to have a – a  _boyfriend_.” He can’t help but say that word delicately, carefully, like it’s a ticking time bomb. “Have you thought of that?”  
   
Kujou’s expression has turned even more incredulous. “Come on, Kagami. Every time I look at you you look like you’re begging someone to touch you.”  
   
Hiiro lowers his fork down slowly. He opens his mouth and closes it again wordlessly as a tight feeling seems to coil itself all through his chest. Does he really? The thought sends a panicked jolt through him. Is this something that everyone can see?  
   
“Well, technically you don’t  _need_  a boyfriend to solve that problem. Guess I just took you for more of a committed relationship type. But if not… That makes it way easier.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll fuck you again, if you want.”  
   
Hiiro promptly chokes on the breath he’d just taken, coughing into his fist as his pulse spikes. “That’s – ” he starts, his voice a bit strangled. The tips of his ears feel like they’re burning. “Do you have to put it like that?”  
   
Kujou laughs. “Sorry. That was a bit much. It’s too fun watching your reactions.” He pushes himself upright with a sudden, fluid motion, stretching his arms over his head, the hem of his bright orange shirt riding up to reveal a strip of skin. “It’s a legit offer, though, if you want to think on it. My last… arrangement fell through a few weeks ago. Could use a new one.”  
   
He’s on his feet a second later, textbook tucked under his arm, making for the stairs.  
   
Hiiro can’t explain it, won’t ever be able to explain it, but something feels oddly final, in this moment. Like this is his only chance before a window of opportunity passes him by forever.  
   
“Kujou,” he says. “What was Aihara Jungo like?”  
   
Kujou freezes mid-step. His shoulders tense up gradually. Hiiro can see his expression cycling from surprise to displeasure to resignation before he turns to look at him, his mouth set in a thin line.  
   
“Horikoshi talks too much, actually,” he says. “Maybe he’s not such a great catch.”  
   
When Hiiro continues to wait expectantly for an answer, he sighs. Drags a hand through his hair.  
   
“I don’t really get why you’d want to know, but. Fine.” He shifts his weight back and forth as he searches for the right words. “Jungo was… a by-the-book kind of guy, I guess. Serious. Earnest. In his own head a lot. Tended to overthink things. Not always great at socializing.” A hint of wistful fondness cuts through his closed-off expression. “It was hard to get him to smile, but. It was always worth it, when you managed it.”  
   
Hiiro nods. Having a concept of Aihara in his mind makes it better, somehow. “I see,” he says softly. “I would’ve liked to meet him.”  
   
“Yeah, you know, he – ”  
   
Kujou stops. The words falter. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to stare at Hiiro. They narrow as he observes him, brow furrowing, tilting his head to the side, as if he were some strange piece of modern art that one has to puzzle over.  
   
Hiiro’s mind starts playing catch-up, then.  _Serious. Earnest. Tends to overthink things._  
   
Kujou’s eyes widen a moment later, pupils huge and dark and startled.  
   
It’s in this very same moment that Poppy emerges from the DoReMiFa Beat machine in a  _pop_  of swirling, pixelated colour.  
   
“Hiiro! Kiriya!” Her smile is broad as she flashes a V for victory and strikes a pose. “Guess what? We’re gonna have a Valentine’s Day party next month! I’m already planning for it! It’s gonna be sooo cute!”  
   
In the long, strained silence that follows, she glances back and forth between the two of them. Cheeriness fades gradually into nervousness. Her smile starts to slip.  
   
“Oh, no,” she says, with a small, dejected laugh. “Do neither of you like Valentine’s Day?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some nonsense here along with some heavier shit but, well. this is ex-aid, after all. (adjusts my spectacles) i'm just staying true to canon, technically

  
There is a white stuffed bear holding a heart with the word “LOVE” stitched across it sitting on the table in front of him. Its shiny black eyes seem somewhat judgmental as he takes a faltering bite of his éclair.  
   
The entire break room has been taken over by heart-shaped decorations, actually, materializing overnight with a rather inexplicable suddenness. Strands of pink and red hearts are strung along the walls, heart-shaped balloons are hovering near the ceiling, heart confetti is sprinkled liberally across every flat surface. Even the lighting seems to be tinged slightly pink.  
   
It’s a bit much, even by Poppy standards. But at the very least it gives him something to look at, as he tries  _not_  to look at the person who’s been ignoring him for days on end.  
   
“Ignoring” is not quite the right word, he supposes. Kujou is too practiced at social situations to ever be that unsubtle. He still greets him whenever they encounter each other, still smiles at him, even. But those smiles are rote, his eyes sliding away as soon as he’s said hello. He no longer makes a concerted effort to involve Hiiro in whatever conversation is at hand. The table between them seems to stretch as wide as a gulf.  
   
“Tolerating” is maybe a more accurate way to put it.  
   
“I’m telling you, meijin,” Kujou is saying, “she’s flirting with you.”  
   
Houjou makes a drawn-out “ehh?” noise, his eyes wide. “You can tell just from that?”  
   
“I’ve got a sense for these things. If she gives you something homemade in a couple days, then it’ll be obvious if she’s  _serious_  serious.”  
   
“God, I hope she doesn’t,” Houjou groans. He slumps across the table. “Turning people down always makes me so anxious. Why’d it have to be a patient’s mom, anyway…?”  
   
“Older women love cute little angels like you,” Kujou says with a lopsided smile, his hand coming to rest just between Houjou’s shoulderblades, and the rest of his words slowly fade into the background as Hiiro stares at it.  
   
He hasn’t put a hand on Hiiro’s shoulder in a week.  
   
He isn’t sure why he’s so aware of that.  
   
Kujou glances at the clock and makes a small “ah” noise, hopping to his feet a moment later. “Got an exciting autopsy scheduled,” he says with a wink. “Don’t want to keep the poor guy waiting on the table.”  
   
He laughs at Houjou’s resulting groan as he walks away.  
   
“Kiriya-san, your jokes could use some work. They’re kind of… old man-ish. Except also kind of grim. It’s a weird combo.”  
   
He stops, turns with one foot on the stairs to lean against the railing with a grin. “What, you don’t like my material? Alright, alright. I’ll think up some better lines just for you, Emu.” He gives a small wave, and – there it is again. His eyes lingering for only a fraction of a second before seeming to pass right over Hiiro, as if he were merely part of the scenery. “Catch you later.”  
   
In his absence, the break room turns still and quiet. The stuffed bear’s eyes seem, if possible, even more condemnatory now, and his éclair suddenly tastes cloying in its sweetness – he pushes it away with a tight feeling in his throat.  
   
“Hiiro-san,” Houjou says finally. “Did… something happen? Between you and Kiriya?”  
   
Hiiro freezes. His voice is careful as he asks: “What makes you say that?”  
   
“I mean… you two kind of seemed like you were getting to be friends, I thought.” Houjou slumps back in his seat with a frown. “But now. I dunno. There’s like this weird mood. And I keep thinking ‘well obviously Hiiro-san said something rude to him’ but what could anyone say to really bother Kiriya? He’s not exactly super sensitive.”  
   
What indeed. Try bringing up his deceased boyfriend apropos of nothing, he almost wants to say. And then show it on your face that you think you’re anything like him, that you think you can  _compare_ , somehow –  
   
“I don’t know,” Hiiro says stiffly. “He must have just decided I wasn’t worth the trouble of befriending.”  
   
He pushes back his chair and heads for the stairs before Houjou can say another word, fist clenched at his side so tight it’s nearly painful. Later, as he scours his hands in surgery prep, there are still half-moon crescents imprinted on his palm from where his nails dug in.  
   
  
   
  
   
It’s not a conscious decision, really, that leads him to Hanaya’s clinic. One minute he’s in line for coffee and the next he has one in each hand and he’s walking in the exact opposite direction of the hospital, feeling the need to be any place but there. To spend this particular break anywhere but the bench in the courtyard or the CR break room, which has had even more adorable pink decorations added to it since yesterday.  
   
Hanaya’s place just happens to be there along his path.  
   
He looks startled to see Hiiro. He swivels his chair around very casually when he hears someone in the doorway, perhaps thinking it’s the Saiba girl, but instead halts mid-spin to stare at him with wide eyes.  
   
“For you,” Hiiro says stiltedly, holding out the extra coffee cup. “If you want it. I didn’t know… how exactly you took it. So it’s just basic cream and a little sugar.”  
   
“Uh,” Hanaya says, and their fingers brush as he reaches out, hesitant, to accept it. “…Thank you?”  
   
They stare at one another in silence.  
   
Hanaya clears his throat.  
   
“You can… sit, if you want,” he says, gesturing to the bench in the center of the room, and Hiiro acquiesces with a duck of his head. He glances around the room, from the messy stack of documents on the table to the poster of the two doctor cats on the door, and looks back to find Hanaya arching an eyebrow at him. “You need some kind of off-the-books surgery done or something?”  
   
Hiiro blinks. “What? No.”  
   
“I’m back on the legal side these days, but… I still know some people, of course.” Hanaya tilts his head to the side thoughtfully as he studies him. “You sure that’s not what you’re here for?”  
   
“It’s  _not_ ,” Hiiro insists. “I just… wanted to talk.”  
   
“…Right.” Hanaya looks utterly taken aback by this concept. “Uh. Hold on. Let me just finish updating this file real quick.”  
   
He swivels back to face the screen of his desktop, resuming his typing after a moment, the clack of the keys rather loud in the quiet, occasionally pausing to sip at his coffee.  
   
“Have you ever slept with someone casually?” Hiiro asks.  
   
Hanaya’s fingers slip off the keyboard with a small  _thunk_. He whips around to level him with a look of pure bewilderment. “ _What?_ ” he hisses.  
   
“Ah. I apologize.” Hiiro stares down into the whorl of whipped cream atop his caramel macchiato with a frown. “If that’s too personal. I just… don’t know who else to ask about it. I don’t know what it’s normal to feel. When it comes to this sort of thing.”  
   
“Wait,” Hanaya says flatly. “Back up. Are you or are you not propositioning me right now?”  
   
Hiiro’s frown deepens. “I wasn’t trying to, no.”  
   
Relief is written blatantly in Hanaya’s expression as the alarmed tension fades bit by bit from his shoulders. “Okay. Alright. So you just. What? Want advice? From me? About the casual sex that you apparently had?”  
   
Each word of that sounds more incredulous than the last, and Hiiro wonders if he should feel offended.  
   
“Kujou Kiriya told me that you were unreceptive to his advances in the past, and are maybe not interested in such things. But that still feels like a valuable perspective.” He nods to himself. “I am starting to… doubt whether I’m meant for it, either.”  
   
Hanaya shakes his head; rakes a hand through his hair as he listens to this. “Kujou said…?” Understanding dawns gradually on his face. There’s a kind of dry amusement in his voice as he mutters: “Of course. So that’s what that was, back then. He was trying to fuck me.  
   
“I’m gonna be real with you, Kagami,” he continues, deadpan. “I don’t know shit about this kind of thing. Even with your ‘valuable perspective’ talk… I dunno what to tell you, here. Fucking people with ‘no feelings involved’ seems. Unappealing, at best. From where I’m standing. A recipe for disaster at worst.” A pause. “Is that the problem? You’ve got it bad for this person now?”  
   
“I – ” Hiiro starts, a bit indignant, feeling something prickling uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say that! I just find myself… thinking about them fairly often. And I recently did something to upset them and they’ve stopped being friendly with me and I don’t know what to do.”  
   
That last sentence comes out in a rushed, desperate jumble of words.  
   
Hanaya blinks at him before hanging his head and rubbing his temples tiredly. “Okay, Kagami, I’m gonna need you to think about that for a sec. If you’re so fixated on this person, then logically…?” When he receives only confused silence in return, he sighs and continues: “Then  _logically_  you have it bad for them.”  
   
The anxious tapping of Hiiro’s foot stops an instant later.  
   
Is that right? Is that what this is? Anyone having slept with Kujou would certainly feel the same, he’d thought. Warm and pleasantly strange being near him again. Unable to look away, or to stop imagining the weight of his hand against their skin.  
   
Though now that he thinks of it, wasn’t it like this even before?  
   
“Ah,” he says.  
   
“Yeah,” Hanaya says, with a rare, genuine sympathy in his eyes, and swivels his chair around once more to continue updating his files.  
   
  
   
  
   
He doesn’t know why he shows up, in the end. Maybe it’s just that Poppy had looked at him with those big, pleading eyes when she’d handed him his official invitation – covered in red glitter that had instantly coated his fingers.  
   
“I’d be very sad if you weren’t there, Hiiro,” she’d said, pouting and pressing a hand to her heart. “It wouldn’t be much of a pipupapo party without all my best friends!”  
   
He’s not sure what he’s ever done to warrant ‘best friend’ status, but he can’t deny the effect the words have on him.  
   
He has to push aside a cluster of balloons to even make it up the stairs into the CR break room on Valentine’s Day, which is now cast entirely in shades of pink. The table is absolutely covered in sweets – cupcakes with perfect sworls of frosting, red and white macarons, a small tower of chocolates, some in the shape of hearts, others with delicate candy flowers molded onto them. (A plate of sandwiches is hidden in the middle of the dessert chaos like an afterthought.)  
   
He’s the last to arrive, it seems. Hanaya and the Saiba girl are bickering near the drink table. Dan Kuroto has been permitted to attend, it seems – he has Hiiro’s father cornered and seems to be mid-monologue about whatever godlike idea he’s been blessed with lately. Poppy is flitting around the room with a kind of nervous energy, decked head to toe in the same colours as her decorations, her usual music note accessories swapped for hearts and cupids. And –  
   
Houjou and Kujou are on the couch, Houjou laughing at something that was just said, Kujou’s arm slung back around him, and instantly Hiiro is wishing he hadn’t come.  
   
“Hiiro!” Poppy exclaims, materializing in front of him and beaming excitedly. “I’m so happy you’re here! You should get a drink, okay? And a cupcake! Have fun!”  
   
Hanaya gives him a knowing look as he wanders over in their direction. “Judging by your face,” he says, “I’ve got a feeling your whole situation hasn’t worked itself out yet.”  
   
Hiiro presses his lips together in a thin, hard line and doesn’t answer.  
   
Hanaya ladles some vivid red punch out of the bowl and hands the glass to him. “Nico already spiked it,” he says.  
   
“I don’t drink,” Hiiro says, more like a reflex at this point, but Hanaya merely presses it into his palm with a huff of sardonic laughter that seems to say ‘sure you don’t.’  
   
“And I thought you were still underage,” he adds, frowning at the Saiba girl, who examines her neon-painted nails with a smug smile tugging at her mouth.  
   
“That’s what I was just saying, funny enough,” Hanaya says dryly.  
   
“Oh, c’mon,  _dad_ ,” Saiba says. “Just yesterday you were telling me you wouldn’t be able to make it through this party sober.”  
   
“That was a joke!”  
   
“You don’t make jokes. I’m pretty sure you don’t know how.”  
   
Hiiro turns away, letting their arguing meld into a hum behind him, taking a hesitant sip of his punch and finding it surprisingly far less unpleasant than all of his other encounters with alcohol. The fruitiness disguises the worst of it. He knows enough to know that’s probably dangerous, though. Easy to get carried away. The last thing he wants is to lose his inhibitions and start blurting things out in front of everyone he knows. In front of…  
   
He glances over to the couch. Kujou has a little heart-shaped pin in his hair, he realizes. Something given to him by Poppy, undoubtedly. Today’s tropical shirt is patterned like a sunset. He grins and it’s bright even in the dim pink lighting.  
   
Oh, god damn it, Hiiro thinks.  
   
“Everybody, guess what!” Poppy jumps into the center of the room to strike a pose. “I thought up a bunch of great Valentine’s Day games we can play! I made a special set of Valentine’s hanafuda for koi-koi, and Valentine’s Jenga, and Kiss Roulette, and Love-Love Charades which is just charades but you have to promise to imitate cute and romantic things, okay? And – ”  
   
“What’s Kiss Roulette?” Kujou calls.  
   
Poppy claps her hands together. “Oh, it’s easy!” A block with a question mark on it, much like the kind he’s seen within the worlds of the Gashats, materializes above her head with a  _pop_. “The block goes round and round, and…” It begins to circle over everyone, finally stopping over Hanaya, who glares up at it with a ‘haa?’ “Whoever it lands on has to hit it! And they randomly get matched with someone to kiss! Just on the cheek is fine, but if you want to, you can do more…” Poppy trails off and hides behind her hand with a nervous giggle.  
   
“You have  _got_  to be kidding me,” Hanaya mutters.  
   
“Just hit the block, doofus,” Saiba says, elbowing him in the side.  
   
“Ow! Fine, geez.” He grumbles under his breath as he reaches up to tap it with his fist, and its surface flickers through a host of colours before settling on a vivid purple, an arrow shimmering into existence to point… directly at Saiba next to him. She stares up at it, aghast, clearly regretting egging him on.  
   
“No way,” they say in unison.  
   
“It’s the rules of the game, though.” Poppy mournfully shuffles her feet. “But I guess we could just forget it and trash this game I worked so hard on for so many days – ”  
   
Hanaya makes an aggravated noise of resignation, stepping closer to brush Saiba’s bangs back from her forehead and press his lips awkwardly against her forehead for a fleeting moment.  
   
“There,” he says, as she pulls a disgusted face and tries to rub his kiss away with her sleeve. “It’s – oi, would you quit it!? Are you a kid?”  
   
“Like I want Taiga germs on me – ”  
   
“Wonderful!” Poppy interrupts, beaming brightly. The roulette travels to Emu next, who receives a half red half blue block for his result, Parad finally deciding to pixelize into the room at that very moment, looking a bit sullen.  
   
“This game is stupid, Poppy,” he complains. “It’s not exciting at all. If you were making games you should’ve consulted me.” A beat. “But. Since it’s Emu, I guess it’s okay.”  
   
He can’t quite manage to hide a smile as Emu presses a kiss to his cheek.  
   
Poppy herself receives a light blue block, wasting no time to run to Hiiro’s side to smooch him on the cheek before he can so much as react. He blinks as he reaches up to touch the exact spot. Her lips had felt like a soap bubble of light popping against his skin. He’s so taken aback he doesn’t even notice her slipping something over his hair as well.  
   
“There you go, Hiiro! Now you’re way more festive!”  
   
He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the tv screen. It’s one of those tacky headbands made to look like Cupid’s arrow has struck him, both sides protruding from his head, and he swipes it off with a grimace, though not before he hears someone laugh at him. Kujou’s smile is strangely soft and fond as he looks over at him, though it slips away and he averts his gaze as soon as their eyes meet, and Hiiro is left standing there with a hollow feeling in his chest.  
   
Kujou receives a black block for his roulette.  
   
The arrow pointing to Dan Kuroto looks more like a target, Hiiro can’t help but think.  
   
“God wins at every game,” Dan says, his smile turning somewhat eerie.  
   
“Oh, really?” Kujou takes a step closer. He’s smiling, too, but there’s a dangerous edge to it. Like the blade of a knife. “Because in my experience that’s absolutely not the case.”  
   
Hiiro’s heart is in his throat as the two of them stop in the center of the room, sizing each other up in a decidedly vicious manner.  
   
“Uh,” Houjou murmurs, tugging on Poppy’s sleeve. “It was a cute concept, but. You might want to shut this game down about now. Things are about to get… a little more intense than you were imagining.”  
   
“ _Ehh?_ ” Poppy looks aghast, glancing back and forth from the sparks flying in the middle of the room to Houjou and back again. “Oh, no…” She puffs out her cheeks in a rather adorable glower, stomping her foot. “Kuroto! You’re ruining things again! Don’t make me put you back in jail!”  
   
She snaps her fingers, then, all traces of the game vanishing from the room, though the two still remain standing there, eyes locked, and Hiiro probably isn’t thinking straight when he says, loudly:  
   
“I’d… like to see those Valentine’s hanafuda cards.”  
   
Everyone stops. Turns to look at him curiously, but at least the weird spell seems to have broken with his words. Poppy snaps back into enthusiasm in an instant, pulling her custom deck from thin air, and the mood settles once more into relative neutrality, Kujou and Dan exchanging one last sharp glance before separating.  
   
Hiiro breathes a private, shaky sigh of relief.  
   
He’s decided that Valentine’s Day should probably not be permitted by law in civilized places.  
   
  
   
  
   
“Do you… have a minute?”  
   
Kujou pauses with his drink halfway to his lips, looking at Hiiro properly for the first time in days, a kind of weary acceptance passing like a shadow across his face.  
   
“Yeah,” he says, and smiles in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure.”  
   
There is a smaller maintenance hallway off the main CR corridor that hardly anyone ever uses, which is where they find themselves now, only the faintest muffled murmur of voices from the party audible, Hiiro unsure of what to do with his hands, folding and unfolding them in front of him. He takes a deep breath.  
   
“I am deeply sorry,” he says, as firm and unwavering as he can manage, spinning around and into a low bow.  
   
When the seconds tick past with no response, he ventures a wary glance up at Kujou, who looks… Taken aback. He opens his mouth and then closes it again wordlessly. Lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, brow furrowing.  
   
“Wait,” he says. “What are  _you_  sorry for?”  
   
Hiiro straightens his posture gradually. “I… it should be obvious, shouldn’t it?”  
   
“No, no, no. I’m the one who’s supposed to be apologizing to you right now.”  
   
“For what?”  
   
They stare at each other.  
   
Kujou pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, wow. So clearly the wires got crossed in a big way somehow. Uh. Why don’t you go first? Give some clue as to why you’re apologizing.”  
   
“I – I had no right to talk about Aihara Jungo, is why!” Hiiro wonders why he feels almost defensive. It had to have been him who ruined things. That’s how it always is. “It was uncalled for to bring him up. And I even tried to think for a minute that we were – were similar. Even though that’s… probably an offensive comparison. I thought… you were avoiding me because you were angry.”  
   
Kujou drags his entire hand down his face. “Okay,” he says slowly. “That’s definitely  _not_  the issue here. You really thought – ” He breaks off, shaking his head; looks Hiiro in the eyes with a startling intensity as he continues: “ _I’m_  the one in the wrong here, Kagami. Don’t you get it? I’ve been – I’ve been treating you like him.”  
   
Hiiro blinks. His shoulders, which had been set and squared as if ready for a fight, slowly sink down, the knot of tension ebbing from the back of his neck. “What?” he says.  
   
“All this stupid shit with trying to set you up on dates!” Kujou laughs, but there’s a slightly manic note to it. “You never even really asked for it, but I did it anyway, because. I see him in you. You  _are_  alike. In so many ways. And I feel like. If I can do something to make you happy, if I can make your life better, maybe… Maybe I won’t feel like I failed him so bad anymore.”  
   
There’s a faint shine to his eyes as he glances away, blinking hard, his jaw set in a tight line, and Hiiro feels as if someone has just hit him square in the chest with a sledgehammer.  
   
“It’s fucked up,” Kujou continues, pulling himself back together in an instant as if nothing had happened, and yet there’s a slight hoarseness to his words left behind. “Not to act like some moralizing angel, here. I know I’m not. But I can’t… do something like that to you. It’s not right. Treating you like a dead guy to make myself feel better. And I know I’ll just keep wanting to, the longer I’m around you.”  
   
Hiiro swallows hard. “What if,” he says. “What if I don’t mind?”  
   
Kujou’s head snaps up to level him with a startled look.  
   
“You loved him a great deal,” Hiiro continues, bolder than he feels. “And he was a good person, from what you tell me. So. It’s an honor, isn’t it? To… to be treated like him. And,” here he almost falters before soldiering on, “I’d rather you talk to me than not. No matter the reason.”  
   
That, he muses, might be the most pathetic thing he’s ever said out loud. But it’s the truth, isn’t it? Honesty is what he always wanted from himself in the past.  
   
Kujou’s expression softens into something that could be pity, or gratefulness, or a strange combination of the two. “Oh, Hiiro,” he says, and it’s like something molten has just been poured beneath his skin. Kujou reaches out a hand to palm his neck, fingers curling around his nape, and Hiiro leans into the touch with a low sound in the back of his throat.  
   
“I’m telling you you deserve better,” Kujou says quietly. “You get that, right?”  
   
Hiiro doesn’t know to answer that. All of this is entirely more than I deserve, he thinks, but he can’t just say it, can he? He doesn’t have to say it.  
   
When Kujou pulls him in he’s not entirely sure what he’s expecting, but it isn’t to get wrapped in the tightest embrace he’s ever felt, Kujou pressing his face against his shoulder as his other arm slides around Hiiro’s waist. It’s crushing, hard to breathe, almost, and it feels so good.  
   
“God, like any of us could ever have a normal, non-messed up relationship, anyway,” Kujou laughs, though there’s a roughness to his voice. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”  
   
Hiiro lifts a hand to press it against Kujou’s back. The word ‘relationship’ feels tangled up inside him, caught somewhere in the pit of his stomach.  
   
“You want to go back to the party?” Kujou asks.  
   
“…Not particularly.”  
   
“Man, me neither.” He pulls back just enough to grin at him, and that usual playfulness has returned to his eyes. “Why don’t we get the hell out of here?”  
   
He takes his hand in his and leads him towards the exit.


End file.
